


Natural Reaction

by emmaliza



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Anal Sex, Begging, Denial, Dubious Consent, Jealousy, M/M, Oral Sex, Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Sex Pollen, avon's so in denial he is nourishing the crops in egypt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:14:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23032291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaliza/pseuds/emmaliza
Summary: A story about a failed mission, impromptu botany, and Avon's infinite capacity to delude himself.
Relationships: Kerr Avon/Roj Blake
Comments: 11
Kudos: 29





	Natural Reaction

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the kink meme prompt: "Sex pollen fic where Blake gets hit and Avon has to take care of the problem, wrapped in layers of lovely plausible deniability. Bonus points if he still manages to fuck this up and even high as a kite!Blake knows he'e embarrassingly interested."

The expedition to Epsilon has proven one of the more pointless the Liberator has ever been on. Not, thankfully, one of the more dangerous, but certainly one of the more pointless. The distress beacon Blake had insisted on dragging them halfway across the quadrant to answer had been, as Avon told him, sent out weeks ago, just as the scientific research centre was smothered by the landslide. By the time they arrived and hacked their way in, the survivors were already rotting corpses, having long since run out of food, water, and oxygen.  
  
Blake seemed to take this rather hard, although Avon could see no reason why. This wasn't even something that could be blamed on the Federation – just a natural peril of a planet with loose volcanic soil and a monsoon. And yet Blake still seemed to think this his responsibility. Often he acted as if because he wanted bad things not to happen, that meant he had the power to stop any bad thing in its tracks, and hence any bad thing that did happen anywhere in the universe was evidence of his dereliction of duty.  
  
Avon sighs heavily, leaning against a tree. Blake had insisted on going to investigate the flora the scientists had been here researching in the first place, not wanting to let their work die with them. _I didn't know you were a botanist. One more secret you choose to keep from me,_ he remarked, but he didn't seriously argue. Trust Blake to waste more time trying to prove he hadn't wasted time at all. Still, Epsilon isn't the worst place to spend an hour or so – it has a warm climate and attractive natural vegetation. If not for its habit of letting loose planes of earth to smother its inhabitants, it would make an ideal holiday planet. So long as they leave before the rains come back, Avon doesn't mind spending a little longer here.  
  
Besides, he thinks, perhaps one of those plants will leave Blake with a painful rash.  
  
At the sound of a twig snapping behind him, Avon weighs up the probability that Blake is simply returning, curiosity sated and conscience appeased, versus that he has found someone on this abandoned planet to threaten his life, and is no doubt now in mortal peril and in need of rescuing (in terms of getting kidnapped, Blake has a talent that would put several fairytale princesses to shame). He is weighing up potential strategies for this (difficult, when he has no idea who or what he's meant to be rescuing Blake from) when he looks up to see that, miraculously, Blake has made it back from a peaceful stroll unharmed, without any weapons aimed at him.  
  
For the best. Avon shouldn't have bothered to save him anyway.  
  
"Are you done?" he asks curtly.  
  
Blake nods, out of breath, grabbing the bark of a nearby tree to push himself closer to Avon. "I'm done." His fit of impromptu botany seems to have taken a lot out of him, curls dark and plastered to his forehead with sweat.  
  
Avon is about to bring the bracelet to his mouth to tell Cally to bring them up, but as Blake approaches him, unsteady on his feet, pupils dilated, coated with a thin glaze of perspiration beyond what the humid atmosphere would justify, he stops. "Something's wrong."  
  
"I'm fine," Blake insists, which is both not very convincing and, Avon tells himself, nothing to do with what he just said. "I'm just – out of breath, and... hot."  
  
"I can see that," Avon murmurs. Blake's shirt, worn frustratingly loose more often than not, is now open almost to his navel, and Avon can see the sweat drip down his tan skin. Yes, the planet is warm, but not that warm; if he can walk about in leather with only mild discomfort he sees no reason that Blake should be sweltering so. Before Blake can argue, Avon raises a hand to his brow, and almost gasps at the heat. "You're burning up." _What has he done to himself this time?_  
  
He tries to pull his hand away, but to his surprise Blake leans into it, like a dog demanding more pats. Not entirely consciously, Avon moves his hand down from Blake's brow and across his cheek, and when his thumb grazes the corner of Blake's mouth Blake, out of nowhere, _bites_ it.  
  
Sharp pain and – nothing – floods Avon's senses, makes him gasp. As soon as he does, Blake stops. "Sorry," he mutters, looking just as confused as Avon is by his behaviour. "I didn't mean – I'm not – I'm just–"

_You're making less sense than usual,_ but before Avon can make that jibe Blake's legs give away under him, and Avon surges forward to catch him just as he puts a hand out to brace himself against the tree. Avon gets there first however, and when he does he feels something hot, hard and heavy pressed against his hip, something–  
  
Blake has an erection.  
  
_Well, of course._  
  
Even in his arms Blake can't stay upright much longer, and so Avon guides him to lean against the trunk instead, where he promptly slides down to sit upon the ground, legs sprawling wide and making his bulge, now looking unfathomably huge, even more obvious. Avon tries very hard not to look at it, and to think.  
  
He's not devoid of curiosity, he did have a look at the researchers' files. He didn't learn much, given botany is a field he doesn't know anything about, nor does he care to learn, but he does remember one thing. _The Venus Flower. Common across planet's surface, blooms following heavy rain. Pollen has pronounced physiological effects when inhaled. Likely reason for abandonment of Federation attempts to colonise._  
  
'Pronounced physiological effects' could mean just about anything, Avon thought while reading that, with irritation. Now however, he is getting a much better idea of what those effects are.  
  
"Blake, did you see a pink flower?" he asks, crouching to Blake's level, speaking in a low, reassuring voice (he couldn't say why), and keeping his eyes very carefully on Blake's face – where Blake's eyes are half-closed, he gasps for breath, and his tongue runs over his lips hungrily. "Yellow stalk, about as wide as your hand?"  
  
It takes Blake some effort to even look at him again, let alone understand what he's saying, but eventually he nods. "I thought they were rather pretty." He cracks a small smile. "We don't exactly get much time to stop and smell the roses."  
  
Avon curses to himself. No doubt Blake decided he had to literally smell the roses. _Only you, Blake, could get yourself in this much trouble from a damn flower._ "You're under the effect of a powerful aphrodisiac," he explains, seeing no reason to beat about the bush, so to speak. "That's why–"  
  
He defeats himself then. Unthinking, he gestures vaguely toward Blake's arousal, and so his eyes can't help but follow his hand southward. Blake is fully hard now, practically tearing his trousers open, and – he is absurdly big, isn't he? No wonder the man is so arrogant.  
  
Avon swallows a lump in his throat while Blake, still panting, struggles to understand what he's being told. "Ah. That makes sense." That may qualify as a rather pronounced underreaction, but then again, Blake doesn't really appear to be thinking straight at the moment, starting to squirm and keen up into thin air, as if that will somehow relieve him. "So what do we do?"  
  
That makes Avon scowl, the thought Blake is only asking for his opinion because he's currently too addled to set a course of action and insist on it imperviously, like he usually does. But what to do indeed. "I'm not sure," he murmurs, and Blake chuckles softly.  
  
"Not like you."  
  
Avon's scowl deepens. Of course, there's no reason this should change anything – he could easily have Cally beam them up here and now, and let Blake explain the state he's in on the flight deck. Avon knows it would humiliate him, to have the others see him so desperate, so helpless, and that in and of itself should make it worth doing. Besides, he's sure Blake's adoring followers would be all too willing to help their leader out in his moment of need. Jenna, especially.  
  
That gives Avon pause. It's not like she should care if Jenna is interested in Blake, or if Blake should choose to inflict his current state of desire on her. Not that he thinks her the kind of woman to take advantage of their incapacitated leader, but...  
  
While he is wrestling with himself, Blake lets out a needy whimper. "Avon, I – I can't." Avon's attention is snapped back to reality to see Blake fumbling with his fly, kneading that bulge with the heel of his hand. "I have to–"

Nevermind whimpers, he outright whines when Avon knocks his hand away, staring up at him in desperation, disbelief, and more than a hint of anger. Avon curses himself. Why did he do that again? "You're out of your mind. Your hands are shaking. You'll probably pass out before you even get your trousers off." With steady hands, he reaches to take over the work of undoing Blake's buttons himself. "You need help. Let me."

Blake seems surprised by this action, but his eyes soon slide shut in bliss as Avon gets his flies undone, one hand reaching in to pull out his cock and wrap around the thickness of it. "Avon!"

Strong hands fly up to grasp his shoulders, squeezing and pulling him closer. Avon tries to ignore it, setting himself to stroking Blake's prick at a ruthless pace. In truth, he's not quite sure why he's doing this - his argument from before sounds unconvincing even to him. Still, he reasons, dealing with Blake's arousal quickly and efficiently seems the most practical solution to getting him back to the Liberator in a state that he has the capacity to lead, should they need to make a fast getaway. He may not enjoy the process, but he's sure Blake expects no lower level of sacrifice.

The feel of Blake's cock in his hand is hot, in the most literal sense of the word. He's still burning up, wet and leaking all over Avon's palm. "Avon, please," Blake drawls, sounding half-drunk with pleasure, helplessly arching his hips to meet Avon's strokes. As he keens he sinks further into the wet earth, almost lying down, and head thrown back against the tree to bare his neck.

Avon is tempted to seize it, to bite him, to suck until he leaves a bruise, a claim, a mark of ownership – _I did this, I made him fall apart and come in my hand, I made him beg me for it._ But that would be foolish, and besides, it's not him making Blake beg, it's the flower, and so as a victory it rings rather hollow.

"Please, please, please," Blake mutters mindlessly, tears forming in his eyes, thighs twitching as he cries for more. "Avon, please, I can't..."

"Shh." Instinctively Avon leans in to kiss him, purely to silence him, of course. It means nothing; he is currently gratifying Blake's sexual needs, because Blake was fool enough to get himself into a situation where they needed gratifying. Kissing him simply comes along with that, Avon would be silly to pretend not kissing him made this any less mortifying or compromising. Once this is done, hopefully they will both be happy enough to forget all about it, including any kisses they may have shared.

But for the moment Blake seems pleased enough with his kiss; he moans happily into Avon's mouth, hands travelling north to grasp him by the neck and hold him still. Leave it to Blake to be an insufferable romantic, even when out of his mind with lust. Avon indulges him, kissing back with – not enthusiasm, per se, but as much skill as he can muster, while still focusing on wanking Blake off to the best of his ability.

As such he doesn't think he can be faulted for not noticing as they slip further into the mud, until he is lying atop Blake, who breaks the kiss to grunt as his head collides with the ground. That hardly seems to stop him though. His thighs wrap easily around Avon's waist, pinning him in place. "Please," he whispers again, having become something of a broken record, arching upward against Avon's body while Avon nurses beneath his ear, letting the noise of Blake's pitiful begging wash over him.

It's not hard to deduce what Blake wants, when he seems to trying to fold himself in half to display his arse, trousers fallen about his knees, rubbing his needy hole against Avon's still-clothed erection (it's not surprising he's aroused, he's been more or less having sex for the past five minutes, what would you expect to happen?). Whether that's the result of the pollen, or Blake's own personal preferences, he can't say. In either case, it's somewhat more difficult to know what to do about it, given it's not like he was expecting this mission to end in a sexual tryst with a man he ought to hate, and hence, he hardly came prepared.

And yet Blake seems so desperate Avon cannot deny him. He shouldn't be surprised. Doesn't Blake always get what he wants? After thinking it over a moment, Avon comes to a practical conclusion: "You ought to get me wet first."

In truth, Avon isn't sure how Blake will respond to that; even in this state, he can imagine him taking umbrage at the thought of being used so. But when Blake opens his eyes, he just looks hungry. He licks his lips eagerly, and that's all the encouragement Avon needs to go crawling up his body, hurriedly unzipping himself for Blake's appreciation.

Blake moans as Avon feeds him his cock, hissing at the teeth of his zip chafing against him. He wishes he'd worn something easier to peel from his body than leather, but he can't protest now, not with Blake sucking him so hard he has to clutch at the man's curls not to collapse. _Oh, he loves this._ Avon groans, pistoning his hips to meet Blake's greedy mouth. Blake is good at this, taking him deep without a cough, and Avon knows he's too far gone to be thinking about his technique. This must be instinct, and muscle memory. He's done this before.

Avon shouldn't be surprised; he's observed Blake's oral fixation, it's rather hard to miss, and he did always wonder why Blake seemed so thoroughly unsnared by Jenna's more than ample charms (Avon's been tempted by her himself more than once, with far less reason to believe his interest might be welcome). _Gay as Christmas_ , he thinks, and while it seems juvenile to hold that, specifically, against Blake (since he has no shortage of things to hold against Blake) - he does get a thrill out of the fact Blake seems to love sucking his, Avon's, cock so much.

With low, needy sounds Blake scratches up and down his thighs, urging him on, urging him deeper, until pleasure coils rich and hard through Avon's body, mewling at how Blake takes him. Idly, he reaches behind himself with one hand, knowing Blake must still be desperate for him, feeling that cock pulse in his grasp, circling the slit with his thumb teasingly. With the other, and while Blake's eyes are shut again, so he won't notice, he brings two fingers to his mouth and coats them with as much saliva as he can. He's not sure how much difference it will make, but he figures he might as well try as hard as he can.

It would be easy, so easy, to keep going, to relish the feeling of Blake's tongue worshiping his length, to fuck his mouth until he comes in it, to take that as a petty victory that is all he's likely to get from the man. And yet he doubts that would solve the problem. When he feels he is wet enough he withdraws, to Blake's disappointed moan, and that's almost enough to make Avon forget any long-term planning, to facefuck him until he is a gagging, choking, gasping wreck.

"I need you," he hisses, losing control of himself as he forces Blake's legs back around his waist, feeling his target with his own slicked fingers - the saliva has already started to evaporate, but luckily the pollen leaves Blake's body so lax he only has to struggle a little until they push inside, until he can feel Blake's hot, tight insides clinging at a part of him.

Blake whines as Avon pushes his fingers back and forth, back and forth, sticks and leaves entering his curls as he writhes upon the forest floor. "D-don't tease," he whispers, with whatever reason he has left, which makes Avon frown. Really, Blake thinks _he's_ the tease?

He pulls his fingers out and pushes in, far too roughly, too hurriedly – Blake can't take that, can he? And yet, he greets the feel of Avon's cock breeching him with nothing but a delighted cry, and strong arms tightening around Avon's shoulders. Avon hisses at the burn upon his cock, from too much friction and not enough preparation, but Blake doesn't seem bothered at all, welcoming him in deeper, harder.

Loosened by the pollen or not, Avon can't believe it's been years since Blake has done this. _So has he been giving it to Gan or Vila?_ No, surely he would notice that – and Blake would know he would notice that, and surely Blake wanted neither of their male crewmates dead. So what then?

With an animal groan he buries himself as deep as he can go inside Blake, relishing how that hole closes around him, like it never wants to let him go. “It's alright, Blake,” he says, while Blake whimpers through his pleasure. “I've got you.”

Blake's legs tighten around him, and Avon grips his hip gently, guiding him up further. Blake groans loudly and, without warning, bites the crook of Avon's neck.

Avon gasps and throws his head back, baring his skin. " _Blake._ " That's going to leave a mark, and Avon shouldn't let him, but he can't possibly make him stop.

"Harder," Blake murmurs into his skin, fingers digging into his shoulders. Avon curses and thrusts in as viciously as he can manage, earning a choked-off little scream that makes his blood sing.

"You like this, don't you?"

It's hard to tell if Blake is nodding, or just squirming on the ground. He rubs his his leaking prick pathetically against Avon's leather jacket, and Avon reaches down to take him in hand quickly. "It's not just the pollen. You want this. You want me. You need me to – god, Blake, you're beautiful like this. You're _mine–_ "

Out if nowhere Avon is hit with his orgasm, blinding white and brilliant, stronger than he's ever felt it before. He shouts loud enough to wake the dead, which would help with the original mission, come to think of it. Blake follows him not two seconds later, Avon's hand wrapped punishing tight around his cock, moaning lowly at the feel of Avon's seed spilling inside him. He likes that too.

He collapses on top of Blake's body, knowing they ought to move but unable to do anything but nuzzle at Blake's neck, drinking in the scent of him. Blake's hands, much steadier now, card through his hair softly. "I've got you."

Avon stops. What is he doing? He agreed to help Blake out, at no point did he agree to post-coital indulgences.

He forces himself up on his knees, watching how Blake, mostly naked, covered in dirt and grime, shirt soaked through to transparency with sweat, shivers when Avon's body leaves his own. "Are you done?" he asks. If it will take more than one orgasm to satisfy Blake's addled body, he ought to know sooner rather than later.

Still rather bleary-eyed, Blake nods. "I'm done." Avon shakes off the thought he sounds rather sad. His eyes drift between Blake's legs, where his own come is leaking from Blake's hole. He wants to force it back in with his fingers. _Blake's mine._

No, he's being ridiculous. It was an encounter born of necessity, nothing more, and it's finished now.

He stands up, tucking himself back into his leather trousers neatly, trying to brush the dirt from his knees. "Good, then we really ought to get out of here. It would be just our luck to have the rains come back just as we were finishing." The lovebite Blake left beneath his jaw starts to sting. "I don't know how we'll explain the state of us to the others, but perhaps we could claim a newfound appreciation for outdoor activities–"

"Avon."

He stops. Blake had recovered himself a little, now in a crouching position, trousers back around his waist and now he is focused on redoing his shirt buttons. That gives him a convenient excuse not to look Avon in the eye. "You ought to know... I wasn't in my right mind. I would have done anything." Avon snarls. Yes, he knows. The state he was in, Blake would have fucked anyone or anything. Avon doesn't need that spelled out for him. "I didn't mean to take advantage of you. Forgive me."

Forgive him? For what? On principle, though, Avon doesn't want to - even now Blake can't actually apologise, instead he makes it a command, makes it Avon's responsibility.

"As you said, you were out of your mind with lust. I doubt you could have resisted if you tried." _Lucky it was me with him._ Avon almost shudders in horror at the thought if what might have happened if their enemies had found them here. "If either of us ought to apologise for taking advantage of the other, I would expect it to be me to you."

Blake snaps his head up to look at him. "And will you?"

"No."

Really, what is it Blake thinks he's taken advantage of here? Avon's feelings? If he thinks that, then he's more of a fool than Avon ever knew.

Blake's nods. "Well then." Shirt as buttoned as he cares to wear it, he gets to his feet, shakes the twigs from his hair, and raises the communicator to his mouth. "Bring us up now, Cally." It is, Avon thinks with bitter relief in the split second before they disappear, rather like nothing happened at all.


End file.
